


drift

by celestialsucculent



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Dick Grayson Has Issues, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Dick Grayson-centric, Gen, Hurt Dick Grayson, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Mind Control, Memory Alteration, Memory Loss, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Nightwing #74, Nightwing (2016) #50
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:47:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26498122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celestialsucculent/pseuds/celestialsucculent
Summary: Months of brainwashing do not leave Dick unscathed.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Alfred Pennyworth, Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd
Comments: 13
Kudos: 166





	drift

There was a click. Batman. A briefcase in his hands. Black and blue. A mask placed gingerly atop, awaiting him? 

He had never seen this suit in his life. He remembered spending hours bent over his desk, waffling between materials before settling on the kevlar weave for it. 

His hand moved to pinch the fabric between his fingers. If he took off his gloves, would he feel his sweat? Blood? The bits of his brain that he’d lost? 

Maybe if he found all those splattered pieces, he could stuff them back into his head. A part of him laughed hysterically at the idea. Dick narrowed his eyes, cocked his head to the side. Which part? 

“Dick?” 

Something had changed in Batman’s expression. Dick could always tell when something was bothering Bruce, ever since he was a little kid. He should say something. He was still holding the suit. He wasn’t. 

Oh. No good. His brain was melting, sloshing, oozing out of his ear. It hurt, but it always had hurt as long as he could remember and it always would. 

A black, pointed thing reached for his neck. Dick was too tired to flinch away. Dick knew how to take a hit, his parents had guaranteed that. No they hadn’t. 

Ric remembered his mother’s gentle touch, a hand carding through his hair after a nightmare. Bruce’s fingertips trailing from his collar to his ear felt like that. Why? Batman wasn’t gentle. The whole house was cold, and empty, and talons tearing him apart from the inside out. He shouldn’t stay there. 

“You’re bleeding.” 

Oh. Was he? He stared at his fingertips. They were sticky. They gleamed. The suit had been coated with blood after all. Why hadn’t Mr. Pennyworth cleaned it? Alfred was dead. No one to patch him up. Dick looked at the feeling from the outside. 

He took a second to blink and an eternity passed. His eyes opened and he was sitting. Hard brick at his back. Raised voices. That was never good. His parents had taught him that. No they hadn’t. 

Dick turned his head away from the noise and saw silver. His hands undid the latches to the briefcase. Click. Black and blue.  _ Nightwing _ , a part of him whispered. The voice was soft and hard. 

Ric remembered putting on his uniform. Black and gold. Hood. Googles. Every knife had its place. Habitual. His grandfather had shown him how, when he was young. 

Would Nightwing feel like that? Like memory? Dick wasn’t sure he liked familiar. There was no truth in it. 

But the mask was waiting for him. New shackles. Or wings? Dick took it from its nest and cradled it. Both hands. It felt like Nightwing would break, otherwise. 

The gouged out eyes stared at him. He stared back. 

A heavy hand rested on his shoulder. Dick remembered his parents being shot falling dying. That was the first time he’d seen brains splatter. Not the last. Joker had put a hand on his shoulder, so proud. He’d been happy. Cobb put hand on shoulder, concerned. He’d been. Bruce hand shoulder put steady numb. 

There was still a hand on his shoulder. The burden never left. His eyes followed the arm up. Jason. Little Wing. Red Hood had to die. Bullet through the brain. Dick didn’t have the energy. 

“Can you hear me Dick?” 

That was him. That was him. 

Jason had half a face. His lips were moving. Dick had been beaten by a man with two faces. Maybe not. 

The crystal had shown him the truth. The crystal had lied to him. He was the crystal and the crystal was shattered and he was shattered. It was no good. 

Someone was holding his hand. Jason was sitting next to him. A thumb smoothed over his knuckles, steady and regular. 

He hated it. He wanted it. He didn’t deserve it. There were purple storm cloud yellow mustard bruises crawling up Jason’s face. He was made to kill and hurt. Poison. 

“Sorry.” 

The words felt too big in his mouth. Ill-formed. The thumb paused, then continued. Jason was looking at Alfred’s fine china. Jason was looking at him. 

Dick turned away. The mask wanted him again. Dick smoothed his hand across it so it wouldn’t see him. 

“Do I belong to Batman?” 

His mouth asked. The hand tightened. Then loosened. 

“No. You don’t belong to anyone.” 

Unfamiliar. Words drift from across the roof. 

“...no time for this...Joker...top priority...” 

The man with the masks closes his eyes. 

**Author's Note:**

> I would have liked for Batman to have given Dick an aspirin or something at least.


End file.
